


Something Like

by mrasaki



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Frottage, Light Angst, M/M, Porn Battle, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrasaki/pseuds/mrasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard held no man’s beer, not even a guy who’d suddenly been catapulted into cult status when Leonard still sometimes had to argue with the burly guy at the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV: James T. Kirk/Leonard McCoy, needy, angry, urgent, public, lust, public sex, frottage

The beer made a cold spot against his thigh, counterpoint to the brick wall hard against his back. The wall thrummed with the hard bass so hard the beat vibrated his body.

Heavens only knew how Jim got him into these situations every single time. No, wait – he knew how; what Leonard couldn’t figure out was why he let him. Every single fucking time.

Leonard was too old for this shit. He’d long since passed beyond the point that could charitably be called ‘pissed off’ and gone into the realm of ‘Jim Kirk’s ass is asking for a kicking.’ Leonard held no man’s beer, not even a guy who’d suddenly been catapulted into cult status when Leonard still sometimes had to argue with the burly guy at the door. He hadn’t broken his personal rule of never saying _Do you know who I am?_ yet. But he’d come damn close to it three times in his life, and one of those times had been tonight. He still wouldn’t have gotten in, either, until Jim Kirk had descended upon him like the gift of fucking God that he thought he was and had whisked Leonard into the club that _he’d_ invited him to in the first place. That little shit had forgotten to put Leonard’s name on the guest list, and now Leonard was stuck waiting outside the restroom stall, babysitting Jim’s beer while the kid got a blowjob from the Barbie-perfect wannabe model who’d followed him in.

“You in line, man?” he was asked for the ten millionth time. Leonard scowled into blank air and didn’t answer. He thought he could hear moans through the door but that was just his overactive imagination, it had to be, all too easy to superimpose the smooth curves outlined in body glitter, gauzy fabric and jewelry hiding only the barest essentials, long, impossibly long legs sheathed in stiletto heels, pushed up against a young man as impossibly perfect as the women in this crazy drug-fueled city.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t fucking care, because he and Jim had never discussed what it was that they thought they were doing.

Three comm numbers from two girls and one very persistent guy later, “Fuck it,” he decided aloud and pushed himself to his feet. He’d given Jim his fifteen minutes. He wasn’t here to be anybody’s babysitter. He wasn’t too old for this shit himself, and if Jim needed one, that’s what a publicist was for, and Jim was either having the time of his life in a dirty bathroom stall or having an epic piss. Either way, Jim obviously didn’t need Leonard around. He drank Jim’s beer in one long draught in revenge, then went to get himself another drink.

When he got back, regaining his place by dint of his glower, Jim was still in there.

Now it occurred to Leonard that Jim must have the stamina -- or bladder -- of a stallion. From personal experience, he knew Jim didn’t have the former – at least, not while drunk -- and from being stuck on a transport on a 16 hour subspace flight to Neptune research station a few months ago, he knew Jim didn’t have the latter, either.

The bouncer doing crowd control in the hallway had noticed too, and was staring between Leonard and the stall suspiciously.

Leonard banged on the door. “Jim?” he called. Yelled, actually, because a normal volume was impossible over the thumping bass, but he tried to seem casual. It was only a matter of time before either of them were recognized and people started breaking out their comms to snap pictures. He thought he might still be too unknown to make it into the major tabloids, but Jim didn’t stand a chance. They published pictures of him jogging, for chrissakes. He needed to get Jim out of there, ASAP, and with a minimum of attention from interested parties.

No answer. There was no gap underneath the door to get down and have a look. Maybe Jim had left the restroom while Leonard had been getting his other drink, and wouldn’t that just put a clincher on the evening. He banged again, and now the bouncer was definitely interested, drifting closer.

But before he got there, the snap of the bolt came and the door creaked open.

The bouncer shone a flashlight in Leonard’s face. “Everything good?”

Everything was good, Leonard managed to convince the guy even though reassuring expressions were hard with the light still glaring into his eyes, the bouncer scrutinizing his pupils like a predatory eagle to see if he was hopped up on anything. “Think my friend’s in there. Just checking up on him,” he said with as much Southern charm as he could manage, aware that the man towered over Leonard’s own not-insubstantial height and was twice as wide.

Not that Leonard’s charm amounted to much even on a good day, and today was definitely not a good day.

Before the guy could say anything further, however, a hand grasped Leonard’s wrist through the gap and yanked him inside.

“I drank your goddamn beer,” was the first thing Leonard could say in the face of Jim – pants on, girl missing (when had _that_ happened?), apparently totally sober, seated in a full-on relaxed lounge like the toilet was his own personal cushioned armchair, and peering up at him with eyes nearly electric blue in the murky black light.

Which was weird. Leonard had spent time with Jim in entirely too many dives and clubs of varying quality all across the quadrant, but he’d never noticed that before.

Jim’s face creased into its familiar lines. “Guess you’ll have to buy me another one,” he said.

“Yeah. You wanna tell me what you’re doing in here? Thought you were – you know.“ He gestured expressively at Jim’s lap. They were very close, Leonard practically hunched over Jim in the cramped quarters.

“Sometimes a guy needs a breather, okay?”

“For thirty fucking minutes? In the fucking toilet? What happened to outside?”

“There’s paparazzi outside.”

That hard truth stopped Leonard in mid-rant. He deflated. “Right. Okay.”

“And,” Jim’s voice turned dark, the mischievous lilt to it gilding its edges. “I was waiting for you.”

“Because your goddamn comm broke? What happened to that girl?”

Jim’s face clouded. “She left.”

He held Leonard’s gaze, his expression a complex mix of things that Leonard couldn’t even begin to interpret. “It doesn’t matter. This matters more.“ He surged up, quick as a snake, and sealed his mouth over Leonard’s before Leonard could even begin to parse his meaning.

The door rattled in its frame as the force of his kiss shoved Leonard hard against it, his head driven against the metal with a hollow bang hard enough for him to see stars. It was proof positive just how used to this he was from Jim, the mercurial shifts in temper and impulses that made life entirely too interesting for his tastes, body relaxing against the door and giving up the fight before it even began.

Jim oiled himself between his thighs with practiced ease and pressed up once, meaningfully, all throaty chuckle and white grin that hummed straight to Leonard’s brain and made him gasp for breath.

“Again, your comm broke?” he managed, fighting the way the fabric of their clothes suddenly seemed both too rough and too tight and just about perfect. “Is making me wait outside for half an hour getting hit on by kids a fraction of my age your idea of foreplay?”

Jim’s laughter was barely audible over the thumping bass. “How many numbers did you get?”

“That is none of your business.” But his growl trailed off into a gasp as Jim rolled his hips expertly, knowing exactly the pressure and friction needed to make Leonard’s mind and common sense skid off the rails. He couldn’t help the high noise he made into Jim’s mouth then, loud enough that he was sure the people crowded into the cramped restroom had absolutely no doubt what was going on, even if the rhythmically rattling door wasn’t a dead giveaway.

Leonard should care. Really, he’d start caring in a minute, just as soon as Jim quit grabbing his ass with both hands, kneading it in rhythm with each shove and grind of his hips.

“Whatever,” Jim murmured, Leonard’s lower lip now caught between his teeth, his moist breath feathering against Leonard’s skin. “Fuck ‘em,” he continued, and Leonard didn’t know if he meant it literally, and didn’t have the breath or the presence of mind to ask.

Someone, probably the bouncer, banged on the door. Leonard definitely wanted to care about that too, but Jim’s mouth was sliding over his again, all slick lips and the rough drag of stubble. His talented tongue did something that should’ve been impossible by all the laws of physics against the pulse-point at Leonard’s throat. It made him squirm, heat sliding down his spine and straight to his cock.

Bang. Bang. “Sir,” the bouncer said from the other side of the door, nearly in Leonard’s ear, in the flat, business-like drone of someone who’d seen entirely too much bullshit night after night but especially this night. “You need to come out of there. Right now. Both of you.”

Jim slid up and sank his sharp teeth into Leonard’s lip almost to the point of pain when he felt Leonard shift as if to respond and end this strange encounter just as he thrust his hips forward again emphatically, stilling any protest or even any move on Leonard’s part to do anything except wriggle like a hooked fish and moan. Seemingly of their own volition, his hands slid up to clutch into Jim’s short-cropped hair and just hold him still, right there.

“Sir? You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there. Sir!”

Jim’s husky laugh anchored Leonard as they writhed together like horny teenagers first discovering sex, those blunt fingered hands ten points of pressure hard enough on Leonard’s hips to bruise. Rough fabric did nothing to soften the rigid friction of Jim’s cock against his with every thrust. His eyelids drooped in pleasure, his own hands now skimming down to clutch at the hot skin beneath Jim’s clothes, even as every rattle and bang on the door made the heat spiral higher and his breath come faster at the sheer illicitness of this, the knowledge that everyone outside was probably an avid spectator to every single noise and wanton motion that Jim was so good at dragging out of Leonard, every time.

“Bones.” The name came on a hard exhale against his ear as Jim nuzzled his cheek against his blindly and did a full body writhe, as if he couldn’t get enough of touching Leonard and wanted to rub himself all over him like a cat. He repeated Leonard’s name reverently, like a prayer. “Bones. Bones, I–”

“Yeah, kid,” Leonard whispered back, hardly knowing what he was going to say until it tumbled out, even as his own orgasm shook through him: “I know.”


End file.
